Excerpt from Ash’s Journal - February 4, 4-1891

  Dahlia mentioned her old friend to me in passing tonight. She simply reminisced about the way he used to tease her in the orphanage—how she hated it when he picked on her—yet he became her best friend for years after she left the place. She left the part where he disappeared unspoken. I never learned what happened to the boy—even after Dahlia begged me to look for him, I couldn’t be bothered to try.

  I always loathed the boy Dahlia grew up with in the orphanage. Erich was a terrible influence on her. She was reckless and wild—in part because he encouraged that behavior. She admired him—spoke of him often. Try as I might to be the greatest influence in her life, I couldn’t compete with the handsome boy. She adored him.

  While she and the human girl, Carmen, grew to be like sisters over the years, Erich was the friend who pushed her and pointed out her flaws to help her overcome them.

  When the boy disappeared, I was relieved, but only at first. She was easier to discipline—less apt to question me or stand up to me. She also became more withdrawn—less sociable, according to Mathy.

  Dahlia struggled with his loss far more than she’d ever admit to me. They looked after each other. Even after I took her from the orphanage, Dahlia kept the boy fed, and the boy kept others from bothering her. When he was gone, she became reserved—in part because he wasn’t there to watch over her anymore.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Dahlia learned to protect herself—and she herself became someone others admired. Fully grown, Dahlia is both beautiful and intimidating—intelligent and full of wit. I can only pray that Dahlia finds a partner like Erich someday—someone to push her to be something more.

  Dahlia

  “You’re distracted, girl,” Mathy humphed, “If you aren’t going to pay any attention to me, I can go to the market on my own while you handle whatever it is that's distracting you.”

  Returning my attention to Mathy as we trudged along on the dusty street with the midday sun high overhead, I realized she was right. She’d been talking for at least five minutes, and I hadn’t heard a word.

  I felt a pang of guilt. It had been my idea to take this outing together because I didn't know if I'd have many more opportunities to see the old woman.

  She deserved my full attention today.

  With a shake of my head, I sighed, “There’s a lot happening—a lot on my mind.”

  And there was a lot happening. It was Friday, and now three days since I saw the Reaper unmasked—saw Erich chained to the evemant post at Calo Castle. Now, he was the talk of Firen, and I found it infuriating that not a single person seemed to recognize him despite his spending twelve years of his life in this city.

  No—our memories were short. The children who’d been taken from us were nothing more than shadows in our minds now, with only those who loved them most to remember them.

  But as an orphan, Erich had few who had loved him.

  Now I was forming a plan—one that involved getting much closer to an Imm than I had ever planned and only ever imagined in my daydreams—or nightmares. The coming evening loomed over me like a curse. But I would do whatever was necessary to save Erich before it was too late.

  “Did you see him—the Reaper?” Mathy asked, seeming to read my mind.

  I pictured Erich’s beautiful face looking up at me from where he was chained in the courtyard and shuddered, “Yes—I saw him.”

  Mathy waited until the crowd thinned before murmuring, “Then you know—you know that it’s that boy.”

  Surprised, I looked over at my elderly companion, who chuckled when she saw my expression and chastised, “I could never forget that boy—the way you ran after him like he was all that mattered in all the worlds. He was a thorn in my side, of course—made you unruly despite how your father and I raised you. Carmen kept you focused—got you through your studies despite your best efforts to fail—but that boy made you bold.”

  She pursed her lips before continuing, “But still—I hated to see the change in you when he was gone—like you lost a little of that rebellious spark. You weren’t you after he left. You became more cautious, less daring—more like your father.”

  I winced at that comparison, but Mathy didn’t know what had happened between my father and me—at least not from me.

  “You never said—” I started, but Mathy waved me off as her wrinkled face twisted into a stubborn scowl that I’d grown used to over the years.

  “Now you better listen, girl, and listen closely,” she grumbled as she took me by the arm and pulled me into the shade of a nearby shop, “That boy needs saving. The way I see it, you’re the only one in this damned city up to the task. Your father and I went to great lengths to keep you safe, and helping him will put you at great risk—I know that, of course...”

  Mathy looked around before leaning in to urge, “But that boy is the best thing to ever happen to Firen. He gave us hope—saved near a hundred children from almost certain death. I sleep better at night knowing he's watching over the city and my own family."

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  She took a deep breath, sighed, and lowered her voice, "If you don’t save him, I’ll never forgive you.”

  I made a face at this, and Mathy poked a bony finger into my chest to warn, “Worse—you’ll never forgive yourself. Take this old lady’s wisdom for once in your life—guilt can stick with you to the very end.”

  She was right—of course she was right. Mathy knew me better than anyone in all the worlds. She’d raised me. She’d seen me on my worst days and my best—coached me through heartbreak and the pain of loss. Mathy was the only mother I ever had, and she’d done a damn-good job at raising me.

  I blinked at the woman, taking a few seconds to collect my thoughts before I admitted, “I have a plan.”

  And I did have a plan—it just wasn’t a great plan.

  Mathy exhaled as if relieved, “Thank the Imm-God for that.”

  I swallowed hard and admitted, “I’d die for him, Mathy—just like I’d die for you and your family. I hope you’ve never doubted that.”

  She shook her head, “Girl, you’re selfish—spoiled. I will doubt you until you prove otherwise.”

  I winced again, “Ouch, Mathy.”

  “Well, good! I hope that hurt!” Mathy snapped, as she jabbed a finger in my face, “You needed to hear it from someone.”

  Even I could admit that Mathy wasn’t wrong. The Reaper—Erich—had the same opinion of me. Even now, I had no doubt he believed I’d left him there to suffer at Imm hands until his eventual death. Was he angry with me? Disappointed? Or was he just relieved that by refusing to act, I’d be safe?

  It was hard to tell, but I knew he didn't trust me.

  And that thought made my stomach twist with guilt for what had to be the hundredth time in the last few days.

  Mathy pulled my arm to lead me back down the busy street. This time, she said, “Know why he killed all those Predictors on the Council? Seems a real shame.”

  I scoffed but didn’t respond. I may not have agreed with the Reaper’s actions, but they sure felt satisfying.

  Mathy eyed me suspiciously as if she knew I was hiding something, but she continued, “That Hastings woman claims the Reaper wanted revenge because the Predictors were helping the Imms to track him down, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

  I pressed my lips together to avoid revealing too much.

  Hastings had survived the Reaper’s attack—that much I already knew—and I couldn’t help but think his mission was incomplete with her still standing after all the harm she’d done.

  She was the worst of them, after all, and I feared that the Predictor killings might continue eventually—maybe with Carmen as one of their victims. For now, Hastings and I were in something of a standoff.

  If I revealed their secrets, she would reveal mine and vice versa.

  But I was the only one left who knew the truth about the Predictor killings. Considering the great risks involved with my plan to help Erich, there might soon be no one left to stop the Council.

  This realization didn’t sit well with me, so I'd taken great lengths to ensure that the Predictors would never act against their own again—not without scrutiny.

  I eyed Mathy, who raised an eyebrow at me when I didn’t speak right away, “What is it? What do you know?”

  I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and decided, "Let's take a little detour."

  Mathy started to argue, but I cut in, "I'll answer your question, but there's something you need to see first."

  After a moment of hesitation, Mathy cursed under her breath, but nodded, "Fine, but don't take me too far. My old joints can't take much more than a short stroll today."

  "It's on the way," I reassured her as I led her down a side street towards Redmond Compound, "Just a small detour, and I promise it will be worth it."

  So Mathy trudged along beside me. I matched her slow, limping pace, and as promised, we only walked a few blocks before approaching the iron fenceline of Redmond Compound.

  And upon one of the stone pillars that supported that iron fence, someone had written a message in red paint—one that was repeated along every pillar around the compound. And each of those pillars had already drawn a small crowd of onlookers.

  Word was starting to spread.

  I pushed Mathy forward through a small cluster of people so she could read the message on the pillar.

  The Crimson Council murders your children in the night and burns them to ashes in Lore Park.

  Below the message, someone had affixed a poster listing dozens of names—the names of their victims.

  I smiled to myself with satisfaction at the sight of the message, knowing it would infuriate Hastings when she finally saw it herself. I’d pay good money to see her reaction.

  Mathy cursed, "You did this?"

  "I had help," I admitted, thinking of Yvan and the other guards who had been more than willing to help me.

  Max had made a grave mistake in firing Yvan and losing the man's loyalty. Yvan had a lot of friends—even among the guards who worked within Redmond Compound.

  I'd spent an entire day copying the names of the victims from the altar in the woods onto hundreds of papers, and then, all night, about a two dozen of us wrote this message all over Firen—starting here at the Compound.

  "Is it true?" Mathy murmured the question, "Are they murdering people?"

  "Yes," I murmured back, "There's an altar in Lore Park. People have already torn down the fence around it to see the evidence of the Council's crimes."

  And it was both satisfying and heartbreaking to watch. Some of those people had unknowingly lost their children.

  I could still hear their cries of mourning.

  Mathy blinked at me, "I don't believe it."

  I furrowed my brows at the woman, "Well, you should—"

  "No, no," Mathy growled as she waved a hand at me, "I believe you. I just don't believe that you uncovered this and didn't just stick your head in the sand."

  Again, her insult hurt.

  "Well, it won't come without consequences," I admitted through gritted teeth, "Hastings will almost certainly seek to punish me for this. She will know it was me.”

  Mathy pursed her lips, concern clear in her expression.

  Trying to sound brave—to reassure her—I added with a chuckle, “But saving Erich is risky. If I died without doing something to stop the Council..."

  I let the words fade away with a shrug. It seemed unnecessary to continue my train of thought.

  Leaving Mathy to her own thoughts, I reached out to touch the paper listing the Council's victims. I could only hope their families would find some peace in knowing what happened to them.

  I heard a sniffle from behind me and turned to see Mathy tearing up—something I'd only seen on a handful of occasions while growing up. She was such a tough old woman—one who didn't like to show vulnerability.

  I was stunned.

  "What is it, Mathy?" I asked, feeling a little guilty for upsetting her yet not fully understanding why she would be so upset.

  But she shook her head and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the hem of her shirt sleeve, "Oh, you beautiful, beautiful girl."

  I felt my eyebrows rise. This sounded nothing like the Mathy I knew.

  But Mathy cleared her throat and continued, "I think you're going to be okay—that's all. Maybe you'll even be great."

  Mathy was beaming at me through her tears now—an expression that filled me with a warmth I hardly recognized.

  And despite the danger now looming over me, I couldn’t help but smile—perhaps for the last time—at the old woman who'd been like a mother to me.